


Through the Valley

by shouldgowork



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Agent As Unsub, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldgowork/pseuds/shouldgowork
Summary: A close encounter with an unsub leaves Reid and Hotch changed forever.





	Through the Valley

_We must take care of our families, wherever we find them._

\- Elizabeth Gilbert

 

1.

Reid reached over the pair of maps he was juggling and picked up his coffee cup.

‘It’s empty. It’s been empty the past two times you checked it.’ Hotch said with an air of suppressed amusement, breaking the silence of the past two hours.

Reid looked up sharply.

‘You’re facing away from me.’ He replied, almost accusingly.

Hotch swivelled his chair away from the mountain of incident reports he was diligently ploughing through. ‘I’m not deaf.’ Well, he thought, for now at least. A couple more explosions and it would be a different story. ‘I was just about to get a refill myself, though.’ Wordlessly the other cup appeared in his free hand.

‘Thanks.’ Reid said absently, focussed his attention back on the map for another hour before resting his face on the desk with a heavy sigh.

‘Me too.’ Hotch piped up grumpily from the other side of the office they had taken over.

The case was, strangely for them, generic; there were simultaneously far too many leads and none at all, and the comfort zone was huge. Between the others out interviewing people, and the two of them at the sheriff’s office, they had nothing to show for the past week other than a fourth body.

‘We’re missing something. We must be. Let’s go over the profile again.’

‘Young-acting, white male of indeterminate physical age.’ Reid intoned, muffled by the papers that still cushioned his face. ‘He’s murdering surrogates for his mother. A mother he had to take care of during his formative years.’

‘He has carried around extreme resentment,’ Hotch went on, picking up seamlessly from where the other man left off, ‘which leads to these extreme bursts of rage and violence. How and why he picks these particular women is unclear.’ Here he faltered. ‘And that, really, is the problem, isn’t it?’

Reid propped himself back up. ‘Yeah. Aside from all being old and white, there’s nothing the three all have in common. Not even the same denture glue.’

‘You checked that?’

 Reid nodded and Hotch couldn’t quite suppress a smile as he took his ringing phone out of his pocket.

‘What is it Prentiss?’

Reid watched his face become increasingly grave until he hung up.

‘Another body?’

He nodded.

‘The unsub left a note this time though on the wall. Emily’s just sending a picture now. I want you to take a look at it.’ The last sentence little more than a formality as Reid had already grabbed his phone and started to open the message.

He’d hardly even glanced at it before he called Garcia.

‘Greetings, o wise one, how may I assist?’

‘Garcia I need you to find me a list of everyone in the comfort zone who emigrated from, or spent time as a child in, western Europe, but not Britain.’

‘Just look at the letter forms.’ He said to Hotch as she searched, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps to him it was.

Within minutes, Garcia had five hits, of which three were women and one was eighty.

‘Which leaves a Mr Ted O’Connor, born and raised in Hamburg by an American father, and a German mother, who… oh good _lord_ that’s messed up. I’ll spare myself the gory details and just send the files to your tablet.’

The briefest glance at the numerous social service reports and photos sufficed.   

‘It’s him, Hotch. It has to be.’

‘I’ll call the others but we’re closest by far.’

‘Got it.’ Reid said, grabbing his vest and running out of the door.

They were at the address within five minutes, a dilapidated, sprawling place on a quiet street, paint peeling and garden overgrown in such a homely, comfortable way that it made Hotch shudder to think about what its owner had done.

‘Car’s still here.’ He said quietly, looking through all the windows for movement and drawing his gun.

‘Let me talk to him.’ Reid pleaded. ‘With his situation, I think… I think I can build a rapport. With my experience.’ His babbling came to an awkward stop, though his mouth had set in a stubborn line. Even Hotch knew better than to argue, particularly in a case like this, and one that was relatively low risk.  

‘Alright. But if we have to-‘

‘-I know.’

‘You can’t save everyone.’

‘I _know_.’ Reid repeated, a little sadly.

The front door was unlocked and they quietly made their way through the house until they heard a gentle thud from an upstairs front room. Between nods and gestures they had made their way up towards it, and Hotch watched cautiously as Reid identified himself and rounded the corner.

‘Mr O’Connor? My name’s Spencer, I’m with the FBI. I’m putting away my gun. I just want to talk.’ Spencer said, holstering it and raising his hands, taking a step forward. ‘Ted, I know-‘

A loud bang cut him off, followed by four more as Hotch rounded the corner and fired at the unsub, who dropped, lifelessly, to the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that Reid was standing, motionless and slightly hunched, but upright.

‘That was too close. You have to be more-.’ He began severely, until he noticed the spurts of blood hitting the floor in front of the younger man. Rushing around to face him, the pit of his stomach lurched. Reid’s right arm hung uselessly at his side, his left hand clutched at a wound on his shoulder, trying and failing to stem the flow. His face, rapidly paling into a pallid grey, was etched with pain and his mouth was opening as if he were trying to make a sound. Instead, he began to fall.

‘I’ve got you.’ Hotch said, catching him and guiding him to the nearest chair with one hand, radioing for an ambulance with the other.

‘Vest.’ Read hissed, nodding down at his front. The other man scrabbled to loosen it, lessening the pressure a little, and then took over pressing on the wound.

‘Sorry.’ He mumbled, wiping his newly-freed hand off on his trouser leg.

‘Why are you sorry, Reid?’

He merely repeated himself, and Hotch wondered if he’d even been the intended recipient of the apology.

‘You’re not going to leave, are you?’ Reid said, looking his friend in the eyes for the first time, clutching at the hand pressed to his shoulder.

‘Leave? Why would I leave?’

‘You’re not going anywhere?’

‘Never.’

‘Good. I don’t want to die alone.’ Reid said with an unnerving calm the other man chose to attribute purely to blood loss.

He was saved from having to reply by Morgan bursting through the door. Taking in the scene he rushed forward but Hotch waved him away.

‘I’ve got it, just keep trying to hurry them up.’ Hotch shouted, nodding at the radio that was now resting on the floor. Morgan’s jaw clenched but he said nothing in reply, focussing all his attention on getting an ambulance to them as soon as humanly possible.

‘You’re going to be fine.’ Hotch forced out, voice much reedier and uncertain than he had willed it to be.

‘The mortality rate for this type of injury is 39%.’ Reid slurred back at him, not quite making eye contact.

‘Pretty good odds, kid. That’s only a third.’ Morgan said, doing a much better impression of confidence, though Hotch could see the radio shaking in his hand.

‘A little over, actually.’

Morgan opened his mouth to reply but finally, after what felt like hours, the paramedics arrived and firmly pushed Hotch aside.

‘I’ve been keeping pressure on his shoulder.’ He said to no one in particular. ‘I tried to stop the bleeding. I’ve kept the wound elevated.’

One of the paramedics took pity on him and nodded at him with a vague sympathy that for some reason enraged him. 

‘Tell my mom-‘

‘-you’ll tell her yourself.’ Hotch interjected, harshly enough that Morgan glared at him, but he wasn’t prepared to have that discussion.

‘I’m gonna ride along.’ Morgan said, following the stretcher out of the room. Hotch nodded as he stared down, watching the blood, no, _Spencer’s_ blood, pooling around his shoes, just as he could feel and smell it clinging warmly to the front of his shirt.

He virtually ran to the other side of the room to get away from it, and found himself standing over the unsub. The man’s face was a picture of undeserved serenity, lips slightly parted, all the lines of care he’d seen in his photo smoothed out.

It was a travesty.

Out of nowhere a ridiculous thought entered his head. Other people would see this body, the coroner, the mortician, perhaps some family and friends – he couldn’t let them see this monster like that. The idea that a single one of them might say _well, he’s at peace now_ , that they might attach any single good notion to him, drove him mad. He had to do something about it. He drew his gun again and levelled it at the man’s face.  

‘A- agent Hotchner?’ A voice, which he recognised as the lead detective’s, said uncertainly from the doorway.

‘I thought I saw him move. I was wrong.’ He said without missing a beat and putting his gun away. The detective raised an eyebrow but said nothing more about it.

‘I’m sorry about your agent. I passed the ambulance on the way here. What happened?’ He asked, taking in the pools of blood and the discarded vest.

‘He got shot in the shoulder. An artery got hit. And some nerves too I think.’

‘Well, that’s a shame. Odds are he’ll pull through though. If your team still needs to use my office as a base for a while, that’s fine by me.’ The detective said, clapping him on the arm reassuringly.

‘Yes, thank you.’ He intoned, fists still clenched at his sides.

‘Really, he’s gonna be ok.’  

What was ‘ok’, he nearly found himself asking. Did it just mean alive? Because it sure as hell wasn’t code for ‘back to work any time soon’. And for Reid that definitely wasn’t any definition of ok. But there was no point taking this out on the man.  

‘He’ll have a long road to recovery.’ He said grimly. ‘But he’ll have all the support he needs.’

 

 

2.

‘What have you done to this place?’ Reid said, poking his head past his front door and into the short hallway which led to his living space.

‘Just tidied it a bit. It was mostly shelving your books.’

‘If I’d known I’d get free housekeeping, I’d have been near-fatally shot ages ago.’  

Hotch turned sharply in the doorway to tell him off but the obvious fear beneath the bravado stopped him in his tracks.

‘Who said anything about free? The bill is on your kitchen counter.’ He deadpanned as he helped the other man gingerly out of his coat.

Reid walked slowly into his living room and looked around.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Really.’ He said uncertainly, sitting down on his sofa. ‘It’s all a little weird. It’s just, it’s been three weeks since I was here, and it looks totally normal and _I_ was normal, for me, last time I was here and now I’m not and I might never be again.’ He said, his words running on faster and faster until his voice cracked. He turned and reached out, one armed, and was caught up at once in a reassuringly strong hug.

‘It’s going to be alright.’

‘You don’t know that for sure.’

‘They’ve done some nerve grafts, they’ll do more. This isn’t permanent.’ He said, gently touching Reid’s dead right arm.

‘We both know it might be.’

The other man had no reply to that.

‘And even _if_ it works, it’ll be months before I’m good to go back in the field. Maybe even longer.’

‘You’ll still be a part of the team.’

‘It won’t be the same. It’s never going to be the same again.’ He said, his fingers now vice-like on Hotch’s arm.

Gently removing the fingers on his arm, he continued trying to soothe his friend’s fears, running through the list of reassurances and promises, optimistic projections about the future. Inside he burned. He burned with rage at his own impotence, his frustration at not having stopped Reid’s injury in the first place. And the kid was right. There was a very good chance he’d never be in the field again. After that, Strauss would almost certainly insist he be bumped from agent to consultant. The team couldn’t stay a man down forever.

That would probably be the worst part.

He wanted to rip the door off its hinges. He wished he’d been able to make the unsub suffer at least a little bit more. He recalled O’Connor’s maddeningly serene face and fantasised briefly about beating it into an unrecognisable mess.

Not something, he thought with grim satisfaction, that took much imagination for him to conjure up.

‘Um, Hotch?’

He snapped out of his reverie and saw that Spencer had edged forward and turned around slightly, face still wet but eyes now full of concern.

‘Are you ok?’

‘If _you’re_ asking _me_ I must look terrible.’ He said with an evasive smile.

‘No, you just look a little…’

Reid couldn’t seem to quite find the word for it, and Hotch didn’t much want to hear it anyway.

‘I’m a bit tired actually.’ He said quickly. ‘I’m going to make a coffee.’

‘Can I have one too?’

‘You’re on total rest, you don’t need any.’ He didn’t think adding caffeine into the equation could do much good.

Reid launched into an impassioned philosophical tract on the concept of need, then of want, as Hotch silently continued to make a single cup, and finally abandoned any clever arguments in favour of slyness, pointing out he’d be able to make one (just about) when he alone again.

‘Alone? Why do you think I have a bag with me? I’m staying right here for a couple of weeks.’ The other man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Well, it makes sense. You need a bit of help. Jack’s away at camp for another three weeks, and I haven’t taken leave in about three years.’

‘But who-‘

‘- _and_ this gives Morgan another opportunity to train as team leader. It won’t that long now before another office makes him an offer he won’t refuse, or I retire, and he takes over.’

He regretted the words even as he said them as mild panic flashed across the other man’s face.

‘So I’m staying right here for as long as you need.’ He continued quickly.

His efforts were rewarded with a tight-lipped smile. All of a sudden he could see how exhausted Reid looked, though it was only early evening. His gentle insistence that he go to bed was met with very half-hearted resistance, and before long Hotch was sat in the living room alone, his sleeve still damp from the results of a major communication error as he’d helped Reid brush his teeth. He couldn’t contain his laughter at the memory of the utter horror on Reid’s face as he’d looked up and seen the stern expression he’d had had to fight to maintain.

The whole thing reminded him too much of Jack and he involuntarily clutched the edge of the sofa, releasing it only to get up and pour a glass of the only alcohol he could find.

He’d fucked up. Reid shouldn’t have been in there alone with the unsub. But what had happened in there wasn’t his _fault_. In a way it shouldn’t have gotten this far. He thought back to O’Connor’s rap sheet, a slow, predictable descent through arson and assault to the murders. He thought of the online forum posts Garcia had found. Anyone with half a mind could have seen the inevitability of it all after assault number two at the latest.

He poured another measure of the terrible scotch and ruminated on the whole sorry mess as the sky outside began to darken. The sun had just set when he heard unsteady footsteps approaching down the hallway.

‘Can I sit with you for a while?’

‘Pain wake you up?’ Hotch asked, though he already knew the answer. Reid nodded curtly, a warning against close questioning. But this too was unnecessary; he was perfectly aware that Reid had stopped taking strong painkillers as soon as the pain had become bearable. His anger flared up again at the knowledge of why exactly that was.

‘Can I do anything to help?’

Reid shook his head. ‘Just talk to me I guess.’ He said, though his eyes strayed over to the bookcase.

‘Oh, that reminds me, I brought this with me. In case you want to read.’ Hotch said, rummaging in the bag next to him and pulling out a small book stand from Jack’s short-lived spell as a violinist. Reid nodded and got up to choose a book as the other man set up the stand on the table.

‘You don’t mind if I just sit here and read, do you?’ He asked, settling back into his seat with a battered Lovecraft anthology.

‘Not at all.’

He’d barely made it through four pages before he came to a sudden halt.

‘You know, you don’t have to do all this.’ He said looking, of all things, guilty. ‘I can manage.’

Of that fact his friend was perfectly well aware. Reid’s life and career had been one gruelling test of emotional strength after another, and if he’d been battered by a few of them, he wasn’t broken. The extent to which this _wasn’t_ down to Hotch had always weighed a little heavily with him.

‘I haven’t been as supportive during your problems in the past as I wanted to be. What with the job, and Jack.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not. But I’m glad to have the opportunity to remedy that.’

‘I don’t want you to feel obligated.’ Reid replied, bristling slightly.

‘I am obligated because I want to be.’ Hotch said firmly, which seemed to do the trick. Reid returned silently to his book. Hotch poured himself a third drink.

After a startlingly short time (why it still startled him after all these years, he would never understand), Reid shut the back cover of the book.

‘Maybe I should be Herbert West this Halloween.’ He mused out loud.

‘You nearly died.’ Hotch muttered unthinkingly.

‘What?’

‘You nearly died.’ He repeated, a little more heatedly.

‘But I didn’t.’

‘But you nearly _did_. God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. But you’re family, and I don’t know what I would have done if…’

He paused and stared down at his empty glass before the words spilled recklessly out of him.

‘It makes you wonder why we let them get that far.’

His words hung heavily in the air, and his ears began to ring with the silence.

‘What do you mean?’ Reid asked quietly.

‘Don’t play the fool, Spencer. It doesn’t suit you.’ He said far too loudly, internally cringing at how aggressive he’d sounded. He hadn’t meant to at all.

He didn’t make any move to stop the other man as he gingerly lifted himself off the sofa and walked out of the room. He downed scotch four, five and six, and willed himself into unconsciousness.

 

 

3.

He received punishment enough the next morning when he woke up to a throbbing headache and the sensation his retinas were literally being seared by the sunlight streaming in the open curtains. He rolled awkwardly off the sofa and onto the floor and groaned, and the quiet snuffle of laugher from the other side of the room added insult to injury. He clambered to his feet and found himself looking blearily at Reid perched at one end of his kitchenette table with the bookstand, a steaming cup of coffee and a faintly smug expression.

‘Maybe you should have this. You look like you _need_ it more.’ He said, without looking away from the pages. Hotch’s dignity was already too injured to do anything other than pick it up with as little grace as he could muster, sipping it until something resembling humanity wrested back control of his mind.

‘I want to apologise for last night. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.’

‘No, you shouldn’t have.’ Reid said, though without any heat to it.

He finished drinking in silence and put his face in his hands with a groan.  

‘You should have another.’ Reid said, inclining his head towards the empty coffee cup. ‘Did you know that drinking significant amounts of coffee decreases the risk of cirrhosis of the liver?’ He added, idly picking up the now empty scotch bottle.

‘I did, actually.’

He couldn’t quite resist a smirk at Reid’s deflated expression, but placated him with the promise that he could pick a film for that evening, only to have to immediately veto _Napoleon_.

‘It’s five hours long, and it’s _silent_.’

‘You’re as much of a philistine as the rest of them!’

They compromised on _Metropolis_ , before embarking on another tense negotiation on snacks, which he firmly talked down to popcorn only.

As soon as he stopped groaning he went out for groceries and new dressings. He came back with shopping bags and some copies of case files he kept at home.

He hadn’t meant to. But on the way back he’d had a brainwave. Most unsubs had violent parents and traumatic childhood events. As BAU agents, they came in contact with people like that all the time – when they were still children. His files were overflowing with offspring, neighbours, even victims, that fit the bill perfectly, and he’d easily filled a box to bring over to Reid’s apartment.

What harm could there be in checking?

A commanding tone and FBI credentials loosened a lot of lips, and he spent the afternoon quietly making enquiries on the phone to various PDs. The first three names came to nothing. The fourth produced an incident report for assault, and another for sexual assault. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

By the end of the afternoon he’d been through half the box and had four files picked out, and emails full of new material on them. He laid them out on the table and stared at them hesitantly. It was as simple as reaching down and turning over a page, except that it wasn’t. If he started to read through them properly, to profile and compare, there was no going back. He was still standing with his hand outstretched when Reid appeared as if from nowhere.

‘What are you doing with these?’

Hotch jumped slightly and didn’t reply, but the other man had only to glance at the names on the file and the handwritten notes on the table to understand.

‘No.’

‘All I’ve done is look up a few of the family members and victims of unsubs and written down a list of things they’re proven to have done. Nothing more, nothing less.’ Hotch replied in a careful tone.

‘Don’t _you_ play the lawyer with _me_.’

‘What’s wrong with knowing the facts? You don’t want to know that Joe Smith’s cute little kid, the one who lured women for him, has just started at Georgetown, and has moved on from killing cats in his mom’s neighbourhood, to _allegedly_ assaulting girls on campus?’

‘Stop it.’

You don’t want to hear about how that _poor little boy_ Dustin, whom we saved from being auctioned, is now on the Sex Offender Registry, and getting more violent with each attack?’

‘No I don’t!’ He shouted back, but he had started to pace and was running his good hand through his hair agitatedly.

‘Neither did I. But it’s the truth.’ Hotch said softly, his tone almost pleading.

‘They might not…’ Reid said weakly, but trailed off under his friend’s glare. ‘Flag them up to the locals.’

‘Then we’ll just wait for them to murder someone and catch them red handed. That’s great.’

‘I know it’s not perfect.’

‘Not _perfect_? Just think about what we, just us two, have lost because the justice system has to hold its breath and wait. If it weren’t for all of that, you wouldn’t be a recovering drug addict with one working arm, Jack would have a mother, and I would be able to breathe without feeling like my chest is ripping apart!’

Reid winced visibly but the other man was too certain of his righteousness to feel even a little bit bad.

‘I’ve tried to rationalise this for years. I’ve tried to believe in the law. Every time we’re too late it gets a little bit harder, and after what happened to you I don’t think I can keep pretending.’

Reid was facing away from him, staring pointedly out of the window, but Hotch could see uncertainty in the reflection of his face.

‘And I’m not – we’re not – like those vigilantes we’ve dealt with in the past. This is what we’ve been trained to do. We won’t make mistakes.’

Indecision hung in the air almost tangibly.

‘You don’t have to do this.’ Reid said a little desperately, turning around. ‘You can go put those files away, and we’ll pretend it never happened. We can watch dumb movies for the next two weeks and get new recipes to try off of Rossi. Maybe I’ll even see you smile _properly_ for the first time in years. And then we’ll get back to doing our jobs.’

It was far too late for that. Hotch stared him down.

Reid’s face fell.

‘You’re going to do this no matter what I say aren’t you.’

‘Yes.’

There seemed no point in lying.

The other man paused, his eyes darting around the contents of the table, brow furrowed with concentration. Hotch’s heart hammered.

‘Hand me some files.’ He said in a small, defeated voice.

It wasn’t enthusiastic, but it was a start.

‘You’re doing the right thing.’

‘Fuck you.’ Reid said, though he started to leaf through them anyway.

A shadow of doubt crossed Hotch’s mind. Was he manipulating – forcing, even – his friend into doing this? No, that was ridiculous. They were, as he had so recently pointed out, profilers taking the next logical step with their skillset, not a pair of unsubs. Reid had no right to act like this.

‘If you feel that way, why are you helping me? Why don’t you call Morgan, or JJ, or anyone really for that matter?’

‘Well, in order, I’m a better profiler than you. You’re going to do this anyway, and you’re more likely to make the wrong choice. And I don’t want you to go to prison.’ He mumbled the last part quickly and quietly, as if he didn’t quite want the words to be heard.

‘Well then, lets get started.’

It felt almost as if they were back at work. They each went through everything and swapped notes, argued, refined, hypothesised.  Of the alarmingly high number of likely future unsubs, there was one standout to both of them. The Smith kid.

‘I noted his behaviour at the time of the case as troubling.’ Reid admitted, peering disdainfully at the photographs of burnt cats on Hotch’s laptop.

‘It doesn’t look like it ever improved. The reports about the pet killings indicate his relationship with his mother was very strained after he was placed with her.’

‘She sounds terrified of him.’ Reid replied, highlighting parts of the statement.

‘As do several of the young women at Georgetown. Especially the brown-eyed blondes.’ Hotch said, frowning uncomfortably between the picture they had of the former Mrs Smith, and those of the two girls who’d made complaints.

It was only a matter of time before the kid stepped it up. He’d never felt more certain of anything in his life.

‘Are you really planning to go out there and shoot a college freshman?’

Hotch grimaced; he thought they’d gotten past this.

‘I’m going to go out there and destroy a predator before it attacks us. You can’t tell me that I’m not giving him a chance. That I’m condemning him for the sins of his father. Just look at what he’s already done, and he’s just getting _started_.’

‘Once you do this, you can’t undo it.’

‘That’s the idea.’

‘We still need to talk about this.’ Reid said, scanning the pages of the files and emails repeatedly as if some _deus ex machina_ of innocence would miraculously appear.

Hotch nodded. He waited a tactical forty minutes after Reid went to bed to slip out of the apartment.

 

 

4.

He was shaking so much from adrenaline that it took him several attempts to get his key in the front door.

He finally managed to stumble into the apartment, tripping a little over his curiously numb feet and sliding down the mercifully cool wall; giving some relief to his overheated flesh. He sat there in the dark listening to his own ragged breathing for what felt like a long time. He felt somehow separate. He heard the sounds of the city outside only vaguely, as if he were miles above it. It was a feeling of utter tranquillity, despite the pounding in his chest, and eventually he fell into the first truly peaceful sleep he’d known in years.   

 

‘ _Over to Melinda who’s on the campus now.’_

_‘Thanks, Dean. I’m standing here at the scene of what appears to be a home invasion. Freshman David Smith was found dead last night after his roommates reported hearing a gunshot in his room.’_

_‘Any thoughts on why this happened?’_

_‘None at all, but the police are still looking for witnesses. His roommates say he was a great guy, on the college swim team and planning to become an engineer. Truly a life cut off in its prime. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family.’_

_‘Keep us updated.’_

_‘I sure will, Dean.’_

Hotch had begun to wake up at the start of the broadcast, by the second sentence he had opened his eyes to find Reid standing in the hallway, tv remote in hand, staring at him.

‘It’s all over the local news.’

Hotch stared back at him defiantly as he rose to his feet. The gun was still resting heavily in his pocket.

‘I didn’t see any point in waiting.’

Reid shook his head in disgust and the hypocrisy was too much.

‘Let’s not forget that _you_ helped me pick him.’

‘It all happened so fast! We were talking hypothetically; you can’t just go off and _do_ this!’

‘But I can. I have.’

It wasn’t arrogance; it was fact.

‘You should have at least made it look like a robbery.’ Reid said disapprovingly.

‘Jesus Christ, make up your mind, are you angry with me or not?’ He replied heatedly, though more in irritation that he hadn’t thought of that himself. Next time he would.

‘You don’t have the right to demand that of me.’ Reid said, retreating once more and slamming the door behind him.

He left the other man in peace until the need to change his dressings overrode other concerns. He managed remarkably well at pretending Hotch wasn’t there, despite the situation, but the lack of overt hostility still felt like an invitation.

‘I had to read some of that in college.’ He said, peering at the book cover that lay next to him on the bed. ‘Even for you, Aristotle is strange light reading.’

‘I just got to the section on the concept of hamartia.’ Reid replied.

‘I remember that one. The tragic fatal flaw. The one single mistake or character fault that dooms a protagonist to do and suffer terrible things.’ He grimaced bitterly. ‘Look, I understand why you want to see these monsters like that. But surely you understand that this is the right thing to do. I have to protect people.’

Spencer looked down at his book sadly but said nothing more. Hotch retreated to his box of files to begin picking the next one. There didn’t seem much point in delaying his new work. There was so much to be done. And besides, it was a welcome distraction from the gnawing, if unfounded, guilt that Reid’s expression had forced on him.

He’d narrowed it down to two by early evening and took a break to make dinner, bustling around Reid’s joke of a kitchenette looking for an adequate number of pans and places to put them.

‘Hey.’ Reid said, suddenly behind him, evidently having ended his self-imposed exile.

‘I just started to cook.’

‘Yeah I heard.’

‘Pasta ok?’

Reid looked into the pans critically and nodded. He looked a little bashful and his tone was lighter than it had been in days; perhaps he’d finally seen the light.

‘Did you know that on April Fool’s Day, 1957, the BBC in Britain broadcast-‘

‘-the spaghetti tree hoax. I know this one too. Honestly, Spence, you’re losing your touch.’ Hotch interrupted, almost giddy with relief that he had clearly been forgiven. ‘I’ve never actually seen the clip though, why don’t you find it while I’m doing this?’ He went on, handing his phone over.

The next few hours passed flew by, mostly due to Reid’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the worst films ever made, and YouTube.

‘That is the most _ridiculous_ premise for a horror film I’ve ever seen.’ Hotch said, shaking his head in disbelief, after a particularly noteworthy example.

‘I’ve got the whole thing on DVD, if you like, and the two previous ones.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘How else do you think I stay sane?’

It was _so_ tempting. But he had a duty to fulfil. Number two was out there, and who was to say that tonight wasn’t the night she’d snap?

‘Have you done anything but sit in here and read since you got back?’ He asked.

‘I also finally unscrambled that Eitan’s Nebula that JJ got me.’

‘So you’ve sat in here reading, and done a Rubik’s cube?’

‘It’s not actually… never mind, not important, is there something else I _should_ be doing?’

‘Some fresh air wouldn’t hurt.’ He said. It was perfectly true that Reid was starting to look a little sallow. Maybe if he got to feel that same exhilaration, it would put a bit of colour back into his face.

Reid shook his head. Maybe next time; perhaps it was a little early to push. There would be plenty of other opportunities.

‘I’m heading out.’

The other man’s face fell.

‘Maybe you should come with me.’

‘Or maybe you could stay in tonight.’

‘I would if I could be sure she would do the same.’

‘The Roberts girl?’

Hotch nodded.

‘She would be my choice too.’ Reid said hesitantly.

‘It’s only a matter of time before she abducts a child. And he won’t be able to stay on her good side.’

‘I know.’

‘You can’t save everyone from themselves.’

‘I _know_.’

He stayed silent as Hotch got ready to head out. He was half way to the door when he heard Reid mutter.

‘I’ll see you when you get back.’

When he returned, the living room was dark and silent. He turned the light on to see the kitchen; he’d had the time with this one to make sure no one would see her resting peacefully at her funeral, and the sink ran red for several minutes. Despite this, the tranquillity of the previous time wasn’t quite there, and he had time to go over the files for at least an hour before he finally fell asleep.

 

5.

He woke up startled, only to find Spencer standing in the corner of the room, staring at the rain lashing against the window panes. He wondered how long he’d been there.

‘What are you doing, Spence?’ He asked blearily.

‘I don’t know.’ He whispered. ‘What the hell are _we_ doing?’

This again.

‘We’re doing what no one else is man enough to do.’

‘And then?’

‘Then?’

‘Do you think we’ll both just go back to work and continue as normal? Keep doing this, what, on the weekends?’

‘Why not? We’re in control. We won’t get caught.’

Reid laughed too loudly, smacking the window glass for emphasis so hard it looked in danger of cracking. Hotch wasn’t sure whether to take a step forward or a step back. He opted for forward, and the other man flinched away from him.

‘Do you think I’m going to hurt you?’

‘Yes. No. I- I just feel like I need to catch my breath. This is happening too fast.’ He said, avoiding eye contact and rushing out of the room, leaving Hotch staring in his wake. He fell back to sleep deeply troubled and woke up in the full morning feeling no better.

Reid was starting to behave so erratically that he was getting seriously worried.

His eye fell on the bookstand that had been left in here and in an instant the worry was replaced with something else entirely.

He was here to help his friend. The friend who needed help because he had just been shot and disabled, possibly permanently. Who was under intense pressure and in immense physical pain.

How had he forgotten that?   

He sighed heavily into his hand. He’d been neglectful of the most important duty. He hadn’t looked after Spencer. Yet again. Maybe the rest of this could take a back seat, at least for a little while.

He had just gotten up to go and talk to Reid about it when he heard a knock at the door. He froze momentarily, suddenly vividly aware of the paperwork spread across the coffee table. He hastily threw the blanket from the sofa over it; it would have to do. He opened the door and found himself face to face with Morgan.

‘I’ve been calling you.’

‘Oh, sorry. Is there an emergency?’

‘I’m not sure yet-’ Morgan began, before looking down at Hotch’s shirt.

He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He was suddenly very aware of the mist of blood on one of his sleeves; he wasn’t the only one. In one fluid motion, Morgan had pulled his gun out and trained it on his superior.

‘What have you done, Hotch?’ He asked, sounding tired more than anything else and shaking his head.

He’d spent too much time in the field with Morgan to even consider that running or attacking would end well.

At least unless he got him inside the apartment and distracted.

‘What I had to do.’ He said calmly, stepping back a little to let the other man in.

Morgan’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if he’d just been winded, but his arm never faltered.

‘You know, I spent the drive over here convincing myself I was wrong. That it was impossible.’

‘How did you even know?’

Jenny Roberts lived near Baltimore. There was no way she’d made the local news like Smith.

‘I’ve been keeping tabs on them for years too.’ Morgan replied, his brow furrowing with unhappiness. ‘A part of me always worried. With what we see every day, I knew there was a chance that one of us….’

‘Still don’t trust your team?’ Hotch spat out.

‘I trusted you with my life a thousand times. I respected you.’ He replied in such a wounded tone that the other man couldn’t bring himself to reply.

‘You didn't have to see the look on Garcia’s face when she told me her alarm had gone off. I told her it was probably just a coincidence. I promised her I was gonna head out and clear this up.’  

‘She knows?’

‘You’re gonna break her goddamned heart with this, do you know that?’

For just a moment, his stomach roiled with intense guilt until he found his doctrine again.

‘After Battle nearly shot it to pieces. Do you judge JJ so harshly for killing him?’

‘It’s not the same and you know that.’

‘No, I do _not_ know that.’ He half screamed back.

‘You’ve committed murder! You can dress it up however you want but that doesn’t change the facts.’

‘Someone had to do something. I was taught right from wrong. Don’t let evil conquer you, but conquer evil by doing good.’

‘Don’t you _dare_ quote scripture to justify this.’

‘Seek justice. Defend the oppressed.’ He carried on obstinately.

‘Oh you’re gonna stop that one there? Why don’t you keep going? Seek justice. Defend the oppressed. _Take up the cause of the fatherless._ ’ Morgan said through gritted teeth, emphasising the last few words. ‘No one’s saying that kid wasn’t troubled. Hell, I doubt anyone around him had any _idea_ how to help him after what his dad made him do. And let's not even get started on the girl.’

‘There are innocent people who won’t be killed because of what I’ve done. You can’t ask me to be upset about that.’

‘We’ll never know that for sure.’

‘Some of us know.’

No matter what misgivings and second thoughts Reid had had, these had been his choices just as much.

Morgan made a noise of disgust.

‘So what now, are you going to arrest us? What evidence do you actually have?’ Hotch asked. It wouldn’t buy him much time, but maybe he’d be able to get a couple more before anyone could gather enough evidence to take him in.

‘Us?’ Morgan asked, faltering slightly.

‘Oh come on, I know you’ve always liked him more than me but really? You think I’ve been doing this alone? That he has no idea?’ Hotch said, having to laugh, despite the circumstances, at the wilful blindness of the other man, and gesturing at the still-closed bedroom door.

‘Do you… think Reid is in there?’

And invisible hand seemed suddenly to clutch at Hotch’s throat, and he began to feel lightheaded.

‘What?’ He asked, though he’d heard perfectly well.

‘Do you think Spencer is in this apartment?’

‘Where else would he be?’

Morgan’s mouth hung slightly open.

‘You don’t remember?’

Hotch shook his head furiously, not so , much to disagree as to dislodge the entire conversation they were having from his mind.

‘He never made it out of the ambulance.’ Morgan said quietly, but perfectly audible over Hotch’s frantic, insistent noises of disagreement. ‘You took some time off to handle his affairs - Jesus, have you even told his mother?’

Hotch heard him only faintly, through a ringing that had started in his ears.

This wasn’t happening.

‘No, he’s here. He’s recovering from surgery. And he’s been helping me.’ He said, desperately looking around for tangible proof of it.

‘You think he would have helped you with _this_?’ Morgan asked angrily.

‘I know he would. He has.’

Morgan opened his mouth to begin shouting until something stopped them both in their tracks.

‘Hey Hotch? Who’s there?’

The voice came, muffled but certain, from the bedroom.

Both he and Morgan turned their heads sharply in its direction and, though he kept his gun out, Morgan didn’t stop the other man from scrabbling towards the door and opening it.

Spencer was in bed, struggling to sit up on his one good elbow.

‘There’s no one in here.’ Morgan said, staring straight at him. The blood drained from Hotch’s face.

‘I’m looking right at him! And anyway, you _heard_ him. I know you heard him too.’

‘I heard a noise. It could have been anything.’

‘But someone’s clearly been sleeping in here, the sheets are a mess!’

‘Yeah, _you_ have.’

‘Spencer, say something, _anything_.’ He said desperately, turning back to the other man who was as wild-eyed as he was.

‘What’s happening? Why can’t he see me?’ Reid whispered, backing away frantically across the mattress until he collided with his night stand. The lamp hit the floor with a crash.

‘There! I know you saw that happen!’ Hotch said, agitatedly pointing at the bits of freshly broken ceramic on the floor.

‘You must have knocked it unsteady when you walked in here! There is _no one else in this room_.’ Morgan said, now shouting properly.  

‘How can you not see him, Derek, _open your eyes!’_ He shouted, grabbing at the other man to push him forward, make him feel that Reid was there, but he was deftly sidestepped and thrown into the wall, handcuffs already closing around his wrists.

‘Please don’t leave me, Hotch, please don’t leave me here all alone.’ Spencer shrieked, lurching towards them, but before he could make it, Morgan had shut the door and was hauling Hotch out of the apartment and radioing for backup.

‘No, I can’t just abandon him. You have to let me stay.’ He shouted over and over, but Morgan merely dragged him wordlessly and inexorably away from the apartment. Outside the door, halfway down the stairs, and out in a squad car; it made no difference, he could still hear the anguished cries and the pounding on the door as loud as ever.

 

_No more children are going to be the victims of Mother Lure and my husband, Hark. Dark was the look then on Angel’s face, and she said: I am the Angel of Death._

– Stevie Smith

 

 


End file.
